


Swim Until We're Free

by Schwoozie



Series: And Baby Makes Four [9]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Multi, Polyamory, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only three months into Beth, Rick, and Daryl's relationship, but even after hours of studying Beth finds herself drawn to them. As she discovers when she finds Daryl passed out on the couch, that's not at all a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swim Until We're Free

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't TECHNICALLY belong to Bethyl Smut Week because it's set in a Brickyl universe, but I still finished it with BSW in mind. All of the sex is between Beth and Daryl; Rick only comes in at the end.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

Beth trudges wearily up the stairs of Rick and Daryl's walkup, backpack heavy and on the cusp of toppling her over with every step. She's just spent seven hours straight studying for her anatomy exam the coming week, and she knows she wants to be a nurse and she knows these are the hoops she needs to jump through but lord, there's a point where a girl can't take anymore.

She's not exactly sure why she's here and not at home. She isn't in the mood to talk to anyone; wants nothing more than to pull on pajamas and curl up in bed, her study schedule be damned. And it's new enough in their relationship, she doesn't even know how they feel about her dropping in in the middle of the afternoon, unannounced, looking for little more than a handful of cookies and a soft place to lay her head.

 _It's the cuddles_ , she thinks. _Hours of studying deserves cuddles_.

Not the three of them have done all that much cuddling. At least when it wasn't post-coital. Don't most guys hate cuddling anyway?

Whatever. She's here. Standing outside their door like she has so many times before, but her heart still thumps in trepidation. Unlike all those times before, she doesn't know what she'll find behind the door. Or if she'll even be wanted.

But she's too braindead to think on it very long, and she doesn't waste time fishing her keychain out of her backpack. Key to her car, her daddy's house, her apartment. Their apartment, marked by a heart sticker she swiped the last time she visited a pediatric ward. She doesn't know why she put it there. It makes her feel like a middle schooler with a crush, not a woman in a relationship with two grown men. She's never let them see the key, and every time she looks at it, she wonders why she hasn't removed the sticker yet, if she's so embarrassed by it.

Maybe because it's good to feel like a kid again, after all these years since her mama died, feeling so old. Maybe because it highlights the ridiculousness of the whole thing: Beth Greene, wholesome farm girl, shacking up with two men on the very wrong side of 30. Or maybe it's just how she feels: she looks at them, thinks about them, and feels those cartoon hearts dancing around her head like she's in a Loony Toons skit. And maybe there isn't anything to be ashamed of there. Maybe it's what she's supposed to feel.

Regardless. The key is out, it's in the lock. She twists it as quietly as she can and steps inside, shutting the door behind her.

The apartment is much messier than it usually is when she sees it—a jacket lying crumpled under the hooks on the wall, dirty dishes piled on the coffee table. She feels a little giddy at the evidence that they put effort into her coming here; that they care enough what she thinks to tidy their living space just for her. She pictures them running around like housewives looking to impress the new family in town. The image makes her smile.

She's so caught up in her exhaustion-enduced fantasy that it takes her several moments to register the body on the couch.

She jumps a little, hand tight on her key until her brain registers Daryl's familiar shape; stretched out the length of the sofa, one ankle balanced on the armrest while the other leg curls at the knee so his socked foot can rest on the cushion, a throw pillow behind his head and a hand over his eyes. He's in sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt, his hair slightly wet—he must have come home from work and collapsed on the sofa after his shower.

She frowns a little at his exhaustion. She knows from Rick that Daryl's boss considers him their best mechanic; that he'd been offered promotions several times but turned them down cause they'd take him out of the shop. He still works like he's looking to climb the ladder, though; getting in at six in the morning and leaving at six at night, sometimes going in on his days off to finish projects that could easily wait a weekend. Rick says Daryl does that less now that she's around, but it still makes her worry, seeing him all tuckered out like this when he could easily be making more working fewer hours.

She's never talked to him about it. Hasn't talked to Rick about it, either. They've only been together going on three months now; it's too early for her to play the nagging wife.

Keeping a close eye on his chest, rising slow and even, Beth places her backpack on the floor and toes out of her Converse, fully prepared to slip past him and into Rick's bedroom for the nap she came here for–

When her eyes really focus on his chest. How broad it is, how his shoulders strain against the seams of his t-shirt. She can see his nipples a little through the fabric, and her body flushes with heat as she flashes back to the weekend before; to the time she spent tonguing those nipples on her way down his body, Rick's kisses raining down her back and their dicks so hard, Rick's against her ass and Daryl's weeping in her hand—

And suddenly, she isn't tired anymore. Well, she is tired, and that's probably why she hardly thinks twice about unbuttoning her jeans as well, sliding them to the floor with her panties.

He must wake up and spy her approaching; it's the only reason she can imagine for why he doesn't startle when she scrambles clumsily on top of him, straddling him above his shoulders and sitting on his sternum.

When she's settled and looks down at him his uncovered eye is open; slowly he pulls the rest of his arm away. She's struck, as she always is, by how handsome he is; maybe especially when he's giving her a look like he thinks she's out of her mind.

“Girl,” he says.

“Yeah?” says Beth, resting her hands on her bare thighs where they cross his collarbones. Her heart is thumping and she's so new at this but something about this man makes her want to be brave.

“You need something?” he asks.

She feels it rising in her throat: the beating round the bush, self-deprecating giggles and a swift apology before swinging her way off of him. He might stop her—she'd like that, she finds she likes when he pulls her places, shows his strength—or let her go, in which case she could retrieve her panties and retreat into the bedroom with dignity. Maybe pull him with her, snuggle up together, nap until Rick comes home.

But she must have some adrenaline left from her study session, because suddenly she's _aching—_ and what had moments ago been erratic pulses of desire now lunge through her entire body, settling in a pounding deep in her cunt, and it's with a small whimper that she moves her hands to the couch arm behind Daryl's head, uses the newfound leverage to grind down.

Daryl doesn't look away from her face. But his nostrils flare, scenting her arousal. She's farther away but she can smell it too; she closes her eyes and pushes against the hard plane of bone that she's seated on, biting her lip as the pulse goes harder, deeper, impossible to ignore. She doesn't need to look to know she's soaked through his shirt.

In her head it comes out as a question; a “can you please” or “do you mind.” But it's in her body; it's heating her up inside, his focused stare and the things he can do and when she speaks its sounds to her ears like it's coming from a porno in the next room.

“Eat me.”

She feels his gust of breath on the front part of her pussy and she moans again, louder. His arms come up to hook under her thighs, holding her tightly to him as she uses his chest like a vibrator. He's still looking at her like he's not entirely sure he isn't still asleep, but most of Beth's anxiety has passed. Daryl licks his lips and she sees them shining with how much saliva he's producing and she feels herself dripping everywhere.

“Eat me,” she gasps again, and his hands spasm on her thighs, fingers digging deeper into her flesh like he wants to take her words and hold onto them.

“Lemme eat you then.”

He's looking up at her with a confidence she rarely sees him wear. She and Rick dragged it out of him, the two of them. He might still be a self-conscious, nervous wreck in the majority of his life, but in bed... in bed, they always make sure he knows that he knows what he's doing.

She rocks her body forward so more of her weight is pressing on her hands on the sofa arm, getting her knees under her and regretfully pulling herself away from his chest. She takes a chance to look down between her legs, and her cunt pounds harshly when she sees the wet spot she left behind—more like a puddle, really, and her exhaustion is forgotten in the wake of how much she wants it.

She shuffles up the sofa as Daryl slides down it, giving her room to brace her knees against the arm. She's about to lower herself onto his face when she feels his hand on her inner thigh, stopping her. She looks down in confusion and shivers at the black in his eyes.

“Lemme look a sec,” he says.

They're always saying that, the two of them; let me look at you. And that gets to her in a way different than their hands or their mouths do. Daryl's seen her pussy before—lord, she was brazen with it that first time, and even subsequent sessions have usually included at least one moment of her spreading herself beneath their gaze—but something feels different here. Maybe it's the position, how she hovers above his face and her pussy juices... god, she's ready any second for a pearl of liquid to roll down her lips and splash onto his face. Or maybe it's how he still looks tired, like he's half asleep and the pussy hovering above him could belong to a fairy in a dream—and he touches her like she's a fairy, strong hands gentle as he rubs up and down and across her thighs. His face is red and his eyes are black and she knows that if she reached behind herself she'd find him hard.

But this isn't about him. She's tired, she's stressed, and goddamn it, all she wants is to be eaten out until she's screaming.

“You done yet?” she asks. She means it to come out sassy, but there's too much breath to it; and he meets her eyes and smirks and without another word surges up and locks his mouth around her lips.

Beth's never been loud in bed before, but with these two she's _loud—_ like they build up something inside her that can only escape in an explosion—and now is no exception as she throws her head back and shouts, nails digging into the sofa arm as she feels Daryl's warm mouth reacquainting itself with her pussy. That's something Daryl does—he treats every time like the first time, like he forgets how to work her in the time they're apart (which she knows of course is bullshit—Daryl's got one of the best memories of any man she's ever met)—and part of her appreciates the care he takes while the rest of her wants to smother him with her pussy and tell him to hurry it up already. But he's doing her a favor here, so she lets him—feels his tongue swirling around and between her inner lips, dipping into her cunt as if she isn't already producing enough fluid to drown both of them, circling up to the base of her clit and sucking the loose skin into his mouth. Beth breathes in deeply, breathes out slow, and lets herself follow his pace—rolls her hips to meet the strokes of his tongue, no matter how her thighs are trembling with the pounding deep inside her.

“Daryl,” she whispers, reaching to tangle one hand in his hair as she looks down, stiffens a little in shock when she sees his eyes, his piercing eyes looking right back at her. They seem to crinkle a little at the edges when his lips finally find her clit, sucking it softly until she can't help closing her eyes and scraping her nails across the sofa arm.

His name comes out closer to a whine this time, and now, finally, he does what she wants him to—scoops his hands under her ass and hauls her up, drawing a startled gasp and then a moan when Beth realizes she can sink down on him from this angle. And she does just that.

Daryl's groan is almost louder than hers as she pushes against his face, grinding into him, against him, _demanding_ the tug of his tongue and teeth as his hands squeeze and knead her ass, keeping her there as if she had any intention of leaving.

She gets her knees under her and begins to ride—rocking back and forth like his mouth is his dick, circling her cunt against his face as he makes the most obscene slurping noises—and she'd be worried about smothering him if he weren't still pulling her closer, still making those moans, still working her as much as her pressing pussy will allow.

“Yes, Daryl, _yes_ ,” Beth gasps, looking down at him, at him looking at her, at the flecks of pussy juice that have jumped up to land on his forehead and eyebrows. The exhausted girl who dragged herself up the stairs is gone, and in her place feels something like a woman—a woman who leans back, still holding his hair, making him chase it as she gives a breathless laugh. “God, you want it, don't you?” she says, the last word tumbling into a moan as he scrapes his teeth across her clit. “ _Fuck_ , you want... god, Daryl, eat my pussy, eat my fucking pussy, come on, come on, make me come, come–“

From his choking noises she might indeed be smothering him now but at this point it would take a cuff to the side of the head to make her care, and even then she doesn't think her hips would stop moving—without her instruction, without method, writhing on top of him in a way that tells him she isn't looking for tenderness. And he doesn't give it—sinks his teeth into her lips and slurps at her juices and seals his lips around her clit, sucking as strongly as he can as she rocks faster and faster, pulling his hair and her entire body seizing as she closes her eyes and cries out, the rocking of her hips becoming vicious like she's punching him with her cunt and he only pulls her tighter for more–

When the waves begin to ebb and she loses her grip on the couch his arm is there to catch her, lowering her slowly to rest against his raised and bent legs as she gasps for breath. She watches as she slides down from his mouth; sees the trail of wet she leaves, the slick that covers his entire face and drips down towards his ears, the feeling of his still-damp shirt against her ass as she sprawls backwards against him, legs fallen open and shivering every time his breath rolls across her sensitive pussy.

When the aftershocks finally abate Beth closes her eyes and lets herself collapse back against his legs. His dick is hard against her back; another day and she'd offer to take care of that. But she finds that her limbs have turned to jelly, her mind even more clouded than before. She registers only faintly Daryl sitting up, the thumb he rolls across her clit a few times before putting his hand on her waist, stroking the skin there too.

“Y'alright?” he asks, like he always does, like having orgasms more intense than any she's had in her life so far will leave her anything _other_ than all right.

“Yeah,” she says.

“You come from studying?”

Beth nods without opening her eyes. She feels Daryl moving around beneath her; reaching towards the coffee table and returning with a wad of Kleenex that he wipes gently across her pussy and inner thighs. He kisses her knee before urging it over his head; and no sooner has she swung both legs towards the floor than he's doing the same, catching her in his arms and pulling her close as he stands, cradling her as she sighs and rests her head on his shoulder.

“That felt soooo good, Daryl.”

Daryl chuckles, and she's aware of movement until he's lowering her onto what can only be a bed. It _is_ a bed; it smells like him, smells like them, all of them, and after he's divested her of her shirt and bra she buries herself in the pillow, drawing in the comforting scent like air.

“You have to wake me up,” she mumbles as she feels the sheets and comforter being pulled up her body, tucked under her chin. “I need to finish the chapter–“

“You're sleeping till you wake up, darlin',” Daryl says. She hears rustling, the clink of a belt, and then he's climbing into bed behind her. She melts back into him with a sigh, smiling a little as his still-hard dick settles between her asscheeks. She wiggles a little, just to be silly, and giggles when he squeezes her ass in warning. “Watch it there,” he mutters, sounding as tired as she is.

“Sorry,” she whispers. She draws one of the extra pillows into her arms, feels Daryl curl around her likewise.

A voice in the back of her head is telling her she has to set an alarm—she has a study schedule to keep to, she can't sleep the rest of the day away—but it's a very quiet voice. She's too consumed by the satisfied tingles in her pussy, Daryl's hand when it curls up to cover her breast, stroke across her nipple until she shivers. He pulls her closer and he's still hard but if it doesn't bother him then it won't bother her; it might keep her awake a few minutes longer, thinking about it, wondering if it's worth rolling him over and giving him a lazy fuck before they both collapse—but it's too late for that. He's already breathing heavy and steady against the back of her neck, hand on her breast drooping towards the mattress as he loses muscle tension. Beth takes hold of it, pulling it between her body and the pillow, holding him like an anchor.

Rick finds them like that a few hours later, and in the end he does wake them, but not to study. The station ordered too much pizza for Cerruti's retirement party and Rick's returned with four full boxes. They don't bother moving from the bed; Rick lounges in his boxers as Beth and Daryl eat naked, Daryl recounting what he woke up to earlier as Beth's face burns.

There's a moment then that grabs her; the type that feels permanent, like it will stay with her through her life as something indicative of _now_. Rick is laughing, pizza in hand even as he collapses into the pillows; Daryl smacks at his arm, telling him to mind the fucking sheets. They aren't paying any attention to her, but Beth still feels them on every inch of her skin; under every inch, too. And she knows with sudden clarity that this isn't a passing fling. She'll be with these men forever, if they'll let her.

She doesn't take the sticker off her key. Digs up two more to give to Rick and Daryl instead, both of which they affix to her apartment key. They grumble about the lurid pink color, but they're smiling. And as Beth smiles back they kiss her cheeks, whispering their thanks into her skin.

She knows. She's wanted here. She's more wanted than she's been in her whole entire life.

 


End file.
